


My Beloved Prince Loki

by LiliGrey



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asgardian!Tony, Boys In Love, FrostIron - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Pining, blacksmith!Tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 05:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13968375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiliGrey/pseuds/LiliGrey
Summary: Anthony had made up his mind, he would woo and court the second Prince of Asgard





	My Beloved Prince Loki

//////////

 

Anthony of Asgard was once of noble decent, but his parents’ extravagant lifestyle had left a barely adolescent Anthony penniless and in great debt, after Obadiah's betrayal and their subsequent death. However, the young noble, with his own genius and determination, had managed to use his skills as a blacksmith to repay the debts and lead a rather decent life, if he say so himself. Not particularly wealthy, but certainly not as poor as his friend Fandral, whom he often drank with and wooed young maidens together with their handsome looks.

 

He had never liked the courts of Asgard, with all their treachery and boring politics. However, that all changed when one day, Fandral had drunkenly boasted his skills as a blacksmith to rival those of the dwarves that had crafted the mighty Mjolnir, and of course Thor would insist on coming to pay the lowly blacksmith a visit.

 

With Prince Thor, of course, came the Warriors Three and Lady Sif.

 

And Prince Loki.

 

For Anthony, it was love at first sight. He had the reputation of a playboy and a ladies man, sure, and he had also been very open about his preferences for all genders, but he had never fell for anyone in his long life the way he had fell for the younger Prince.

 

The young Aesir had the fairest skin, contrasted by raven colored curls smoothly styled back. His cheekbones were prominent and his attitude just this side of arrogant that it could be called endearing. Yet what captured him was the Prince's intelligent mind and mischievous personality. And what made him fall in love was the truly appraising look that flared in those emerald eyes when it landed on one of his greatest creations, yet viewed by all as a mere trinket, the Arc Sigil.

 

Anthony had made up his mind, he would woo and court the second Prince of Asgard.

 

Many people laughed at him, most of all his friend Fandral, but he paid them no mind.

 

He crafted gift after extravagant gift, ranging from the merely decorative, to a protective suit of armor, accentuated in green and gold. He bribed the palace maids, finding out about his Prince's favorite hideouts, and hunted for the rare tomes that Prince Loki often desired. He trained as a Warrior and went on Prince Thor's hunting trips. He even learnt the art of ballads and sang for his Prince, praising his beauty, his skill, and professing his admiration and love.

 

He never gave up even if all his Prince responded with were scoffs, mockery, and the occasional offended curses and pranks that made him seem a fool.

 

After all, what is a little adversary in the face of true love?

 

However, that all came to a head when he got gravely injured on the battlefield against the Jotnar, cursed with icy magic spreading within his chest, soon to shred his heart. He was one of the walking dead.

 

He knew he had not long to live, but he loved his Prince dearly. Using the last of his strength, he finished the truly magnificent courting gift for Loki. A set of daggers, nothing untoward, but made with the purest of uru, forged with skills that would make a master dwarven smith envious, compounded with sigils that would allow their master to imbue the most powerful spells and magic.

 

After sending off the final gift, he collapsed onto his bed, and let his most faithful servant and friend, Jarvis, accompany him in his last days.

 

//////////

 

Loki had always found the blacksmith an utter nuisance, haunting his every step and generally making a fool of himself as he tried to woo and court the Prince. He made him the laughing stock of the court and Thor's merry band, and had the persistence and stubbornness of a mule.

 

Despite his outward annoyance, however, there was a small part of him that would always be delighted upon uncovering Anthony's gifts, knowing they are beautiful, occasionally dangerous and always thoughtful.

 

In Asgard, the courtship between males was not frowned upon but rare, and the ritual was slightly different in that both parties had to actively participate in the courting, rather than the single sided exchange for maidens. He never reciprocated, because he was curious, more than anything, on when the blacksmith would finally give up. Yet Anthony never did, even after he had cursed him to wear the clothing of a maiden for the better part of a fortnight, before he decided it was more torture for his own eyes than discouraging the smith any.

 

That was, until the war with Jotunheim. He had, of course, joined Thor in his battles, but got injured and had to come back to Asgard to heal. If not for the armor that Anthony had gifted him, the blow would have been fatal.

 

Yet, when the troops of Asgard withdrew, he did not hear from Anthony again. He thought the smith would surely come back to boast of the many Jotnar he had slayed courageously in battle, but that was not the case. He thought he would be relieved but instead, was racked with agitation, and he loath to admit, concern.

 

Until almost a fortnight had passed. Just when he was going to finally lower his pride and seek the blacksmith out himself, a parcel arrived. It was a very nondescript wooden box, simply wrapped. And inside, were the most beautiful and magnificent daggers he had seen in all his travels across the realms. However, his gaze only lingered on them for a moment as it caught onto a single piece of parchment that came with the box. On it, were only a simple few words.

 

"To my beloved Prince Loki."

 

Loki felt his heart pound harder and harder, until it was ready to burst out of his chest. The words were bluntly affectionate as his Anthony had always been, but somehow, Loki just knew in his heart, that the other was saying goodbye.

 

Without wasting another moment, he hurried from the palace and rode out on his fastest steed, frantically knocking on the front door of Anthony's smithy until an old servant opened the door, who sighed and let him in.

 

His heart broke upon seeing the pale and fragile figure on the bed, and broke even more upon the warm smile that spread across the too gaunt face.

 

"Here to see me off, my Prince?"

 

Loki snarled. "No, I have come to beat some sense into that thick skull of yours. Why have you not come to me sooner? To seek my help in curing your curse?"

 

"Why, I wanted my Prince to remember me always as my charming, handsome self, of course."

 

"Do not jest! I care not for your looks, because I accept your courtship and from this day on, you are my betrothed."

 

Anthony could only look at him in astonishment, and a mixture of delight and horror.

 

Loki worked nonstop for days with no answer to the curse, while he watched the man that endlessly declared his love for him to all the world, wither away bit by bit. He knew the Norns must be tormenting him for not acknowledging his returned love for the man before him, and he could only watch in helpless anguish, holding the man tightly, as Anthony would shake with agony as the curse inched towards his heart.

 

It was after one of those episodes, as Anthony was still trembling from the residual pain, that tears slipped through his lashes, only to be caught by slightly shaking fingers on his cheeks.

 

"Do not cry, my love. Meeting you had been the greatest joy of my life. The Norns have been cruel for making our time so short, but I will forever remember the warmth of your arms around me, and will wait for you in Valhalla."

 

"Curse Valhalla! I do not care if I have to burn in the fiery depth of Mulspelheim or haunt the empty plains of Helheim to gain more time with you. I would suffer through the coldest winter of Jotunheim to..."

 

Abruptly the answer came to him, and within moments, his intelligent Anthony caught on. "No, no, no, no Loki, please. Do not needlessly endanger yourself. You almost perished in those icy plains, I felt the sigil snap when that accursed arrow pierced your armor. I will not allow you to..."

 

"So you would rather me watch you die in my arms?" He answered softly. "I love you, Anthony, and I am truly sorry that it has taken your deathbed for me to admit my affections for you. But it is true and I will not allow you to die."

 

So Loki travelled to Jotunheim. There he finally tracked down the counter curse, but also revealed a truth that shattered his whole world.

 

He is a monster.

 

But he is a monster that loved Anthony, and he would save him first before forever disappearing from his life.

 

He told himself he would travel along the branches of Yggdrasil to the most remote corner of the realms the moment the curse broke, but he cannot make himself leave, not before he knew that Anthony will be alright.

 

Anthony woke slowly, as if stirring from deep slumber. Then just as Loki was about to leave with a silent farewell, shrouded in his magic, Anthony bolted upright, a cry of his name on his lips, freezing him in his tracks.

 

Anthony looked around wildly, panic and heartbreak in his eyes, then brushing off the covers he stood up on shaking legs, stumbling and falling to his knees, but he seemed to pay no mind as he half crawled, half dragged himself towards the rooms outside, shouting "Loki. Loki! LOKI!"

 

His voice was hoarse from disuse but there was no mistaking the desperation. As he flailed and fought his way outside, heedless of his forge and the many dangers it could cause to his current fragile state, Loki could watch no more.

 

"Anthony! I am here. Calm yourself." He caught the other Aesir just as he was about to stumble into a leaning axe.

 

"I thought you had left me. I felt you leaving me." Frantic hands touched him all over, as if fearing he would disappear once more, until they finally cupped his cheeks.

 

And then Anthony kissed him.

 

He jerked back.

 

"I am a monster, Anthony. You would do well to stay far away from me."

 

"You are no monster, Loki. I do not care what others might have said. I love you, Loki. You. Not the arrogant, beautiful Prince, not the intelligent, crafty scholar, not the powerful, mischievous mage. You. Just as yourself."

 

"The monster." He cannot do this to Anthony.

 

"Then show me."

 

Loki sucked in a fortifying breath. And closed his eyes, loathe to face the disgust that would surely come.

 

He let the cold seep out from his very core, flowing over his skin.

 

"Open your eyes, Loki." Molten gold reflected his own ruby red, yet in its depth, he could only find fondness and devotion. And the blunt, affectionate truth. 

 

"I will always love you no matter what shape or form you take. And if you are worried of the opinions of the other Aesir, well,” and here Anthony smirked mischievously, “we could always elope. We have both been to many realms that travelling should not be a problem. And I know just the perfect place.”

 

“Really?” Loki murmured, silently thanking the Norns for his good fortune as he held the other man in his arms, selfish enough to never let go.

 

Anthony’s face brightened and slipped into a smile of real joy.

 

“Midgard."

 

 


End file.
